Just Another Target
by CyanAngelFlare
Summary: Clove has never been attached to anyone. She has only her abusive grandmother and her wish to one day win the Hunger Games. But when she finds herself falling for Cato, the other tribute from her district, she realizes that there are more games than just one to play.
1. No Weakness Allowed

I hear Dacia Lewis, the district escort, call a name. Some sniveling little girl steps onto the stage. She's absolutely pathetic. "I volunteer!" My voice carries across the entire crowd. Suddenly, all eyes are on me. Perfect. I will not be ignored. As I walk up to the stage, the girl grabs my arm.

"Thank you!" the tiny girl whimpers, eyes shining with tears and worship. "Thank you so-"

I push her away from me as if she is the most repulsive thing I have ever touched. I scowl. "It wasn't for you. It was for _me_, you idiot." I leave the girl there, crying to herself. Dacia purses her lips at my lack of compassion. But she quickly returns to the Reaping ball. With a purple-dyed hand, she chooses a second slip of paper. She unfolds it and clears her throat.

"I volunteer as well!" Everyone turns around. I moan as a monstrous boy with blue eyes and honey-colored hair struts up to the microphone. Cato. He does this weird bouncing thing on his toes. Dacia is ridiculously terrified by him. Has she never seen a Career tribute before? "Your names, please," she whispers. I open my mouth. "Clo-"

"That's Clove Bleach," the boy says, with an annoying flip of his hair. "And I am Cato Thomson."

"Clove _Breach_," I snarl, irritated by the laughter from the crowd. "You should respect me more, Thomson-"

Dacia quickly interjects before the bickering can become a full-out brawl. "Let's hear it for our tributes!" she exclaims to the sound of some half-hearted claps. Her face falls. "Alright then."

I am ushered into the Justice Building and the Peacekeepers lock me in a room. I wait on the couch for half an hour, but no one comes to see me. No one would find the need to, except for my abusive grandmother, who I didn't expect to come anyway.

To my surprise, Cato comes in. He looks down at me. I return the favor by glaring at him. "Did your rich little mommy and daddy say goodbye to you already?" I growl. His uncle once won the Games, so Cato's family lives in the Victor's Village, "Is that why you're here?"

He rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores my comment. "Are you alright?" he asks me. I drop my guard. Cato isn't usually like this. I've only heard him speak this way to someone he legitimately cares about.

A trick! That's all it could be. He's the most brutal boy in the academy, but not exactly the smartest. Apparently, Cato doesn't realize that the last person who tried to fool me left the room with only one arm. Literally. I had to stay at the academy for three extra hours that day. But afterwards the instructor complimented me on how directly I hit into the artery. Ha.

"I'm fine," I grumble, staring at my clenched fists. Cato sits down next to me. I push him away. His size is his advantage in this one. He's rooted onto the spot. I shove him harder. He doesn't even flinch. I start pummeling his shoulder. "I'm fine! Leave me alone!"

Cato tries to brush my hair out of my face, so I bite his hand. It tastes disgusting. "I don't want to leave you alone," he whispers. I release my grip on him. Well, so much for the chances of this meeting _not_ being awkward. I hope that he'll leave, but he doesn't. I point to the door and look away, not wanting him to see how red my face was getting. "Just go. There is no reason for you to get attached to me now."

"No. There isn't. But I don't care," Cato replies simply. Now I'm mad, at his persistence and at my weakness. I leap to my feet. My voice rises to a yell. "Out! _NOW_!"

He sighs and trudges out the door. He barely gets out the words: "Well, now that I realize that I'm just another target for you to throw knives at."

I slam the door in his face. I blink back the tears and grit my teeth. No weaknesses. No weaknesses are allowed in the Hunger Games. I can't seem to follow that rule.


	2. I'm Not Going To Hurt You

Boys can be hard to figure out. They are simplistic and their thoughts readable, but that is just what confuses me. How do you look into someone's head? I thought girls were supposed to be the complicated ones. But Cato reads me so perfectly and I never seem to know what he's thinking. I don't understand.

I watch as the radish slices glide along the surface of the tomato soup. They sway lightly at the rumble of the train. I'm not hungry. Not after the… encounter. I glance over at Cato, who is casually eating a breaded turkey leg. How can he be so relaxed? I try to focus on my meal. I snag a crystallized strawberry and take a delicate nibble. The sweet, decadent taste is lost on me. My head is spinning too much. I look up at my mentors, Brutus and Enobaria, as they eye me curiously. I shoot them a glare to tell them to lay off. Their eyes quickly flit away.

I finger the strawberry again, bored. I stand up. "May I be excused?" I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I leave the berry and walk down the hall. I open the door to what I believe is my room. My eyes are immediately assaulted by color. Deep scarlet, striking gold, bright yellow, soft oranges. I can see what color scheme they are going for. This room is meant to look like the sun. I don't really care as long as I can sleep well.

I fall lazily onto the bed and I burrow under layer upon layer of sheets. I nuzzle my face into the pillow and, slowly, I manage to drift off.

I dream.

I am seven years old. I've run into an alley, away from my grandmother, who has begun a rampage. I find a rusty dumpster and hide myself under banana peels and sheets of cardboard. Beating the bricks with my delicate fists, I sob endlessly. The tears flow like rivers. I hear a group of eleven year old boys tromping down the alleyway, shouting playfully at each other and recklessly punching the trash bins.

One of the boys kicks the dumpster. I let out a frightened scream. The boys are startled. They bend down to find me, with my messy hair and bloody hands. Seven of the eight laugh hysterically. The last one, the one with hair like sunlight, shouts: "Leave her alone! She hasn't done anything to us."

The shortest squeals, "Please! She'd do something if she could. Bet she's from the poor side of town. We should take her down, have some fun for once!"

Holding my breath, I bury my face into the folds of my blouse. What do they want with me? Let them go away. Please let them go away. Make them leave me alone.

One of the more burly ones grabs me by the collar of my blouse and yanks me out from under the dumpster. Crying for help, I thrash in the boy's grasp. "Let me go! Let me go!" I shriek.

There is a cracking sound, then I am released. I fall to the ground, bloodying myself further. I turn to see what has happened. The boy who grabbed me was on the ground, out cold. Panting heavily, the boy with the sunlight hair stood over me. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the final blow. "No," I hear the words. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm not going to hurt you." The voice rings in my ears again, deeper now, but still the same somehow. I wake up to see Cato's face. I sit up, startled. I whisper hastily, "What are you doing here?"

Cato shrugs. "It's my room. You came in here," he says indifferently. "You missed dinner, by the way."

I gape at him. "You are unbelievable," I snarl. "Lying to me like that. Get out. Now." Cato laughs to himself. "I don't mind that you're here," he tells me.

I blush furiously. "Well," I grumble. "_I_ mind that _you're_ here. Go away. I'm tired." I pull the covers over my head, trying to block Cato out. "Oh, Clove," I hear him whisper to himself.

Before I know what's happened, Cato has scooped me up, dragged me out of the room, and slammed the door in my face. _You have got to be kidding,_ I think. "It's MY room‼" I yell once more, as if to prove a point. I sit there, staring at the door as if it would magically open.

Dacia comes around in a fluffy pink bathrobe and gawks at me. "Clove?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting." Duh.

"For what?"

"For a certain jerk face to OPEN THE STUPID DOOR‼" I shout. I can hear Cato laughing, the idiot. I narrow my eyes. Just wait until I get my hands on a good knife. Dacia hesitates, then informs me, "Darling. That's not your room." She points to another door. "_That_ is." Dacia walks away, shaking her head and sighing.

I tentatively open the door she pointed to. She's right. This room has something in it that makes it feel more feminine. I look at the clock. It's past eight. I shower myself in some sort of gel that smells like wild flowers. Then I am rinsed with a water like substance with the color of honey. After drying my hair, I order crescent rolls with butter. The rolls are a rich golden-brown and the butter is dotted with herbs of all kinds.

After going through a good three or four rolls, I take a knife that came with the snack. It has a sharp point and a wicked serrated edge. Why would this lovely weapon be wasted on dining? I send it flying into a painting. It lands in the subject's forehead, right between the eyes. I do this several more times until I am satisfied.

I run my finger tips along the cruel blade. I've still got it.

AN: So yeah. Here's is the second chapter. I corrected some of the spelling mistakes, sorry about those. But after such a positive reaction to my story, I guess I just rushed to finish it.

~~~Flare


	3. Now, We Give Them A Show

I can see the morning light's struggle to make its way through the swaying curtains. I feel the ground underneath me shake. From my soft cocoon of blankets, I moan at the sound of a sharp rapping at my door. Dacia is here to wake me. I do not want to get up, why doesn't she just go away? Why can't I just sleep in forever? But the at my door knocking is relentless, and eventually Dacia just bursts into my train car/room. "Up! Dearie," she pulls off the many layers of blankets. She finds me at the bottom of the pile, angry and growling to myself. "Dearie, you have to get up. Clove!" she chirps and then shakes me. "Clove! Clove, you have to get up!"

I dart upwards, ending up face to face with Dacia and scowl. I can see her trembling. "W-we h-h-have arrived at the C-Capitol," she tells me, her voice no more than a whisper. I don't have to say a thing, she trots out of the room on her own.

We're here. We are finally at the Capitol. I take a moment to contemplate this. I will stay at the Capitol for one week. Then I will spend who knows how long in the Arena. After that. After everyone else is dead. I swallow. After Cato is dead, I will go back home. I will be showered with riches, admiration and my grandmother will have no choice but to love me.

I run to the bathroom, hop into the shower and indulge myself in some soap, shampoo and conditioner labeled "Hibiscus". Whatever hibiscus is, it smells wonderful. When I am dressed in a thin robe, I press a button on the wall. It fans my hair so it sweeps about my head like linen drying in the wind.

After rummaging through several drawers, I hit the jackpot. A whole year's supply of make-up. I put on some mascara and pull out some black eyeliner and trace it under my lashes, making my eyes pop. I apply a nude shade of pink to my lips. I might as well look good, even in the face of the enemy. Once I am through with the make-up, I look the best I've looked in a long time. How could the Capitol abuse the gift of looking your best by decorating themselves as absolute freaks? I may never understand this.

Once I've pulled my hair into high ponytail and deck it with a bow, I decide I am ready to show my face to my future admirers and sponsors. I practically fly through the cars that separate me from the dining room. I haven't felt this good since before my father was killed on duty as a Peacekeeper. I haven't felt this good since the last time someone bothered to nurture me, love me, and treat me like what I am. A person. An imperfect yet beautiful person. I haven't felt this good since Cato saved me from his other friends.

I dash into the dining car and scarf down some sort of purple apple. I wash it down with orange juice and have my meal finished in three minutes flat. I then turn and look out the window. Next to me, Cato stares arrogantly at the Capitol citizens. They love his act and absolutely lose it when I arrive. I hear my name screamed in a million different ways. I smirk at the silly beings. Cato and I could actually pull this off.

Obviously, I have underestimated the decibels of the cheering. When the train has screeched to a stop and I step onto solid ground again, the cheers grow all the louder. I have become accustomed to the slight sway of the train and I rock a bit on the spot. Brutus comes out and puts a firm hand on my small shoulder. He raises a single hand and the whole crowd falls silent.

That is the sort of power and control I want when I win this thing. The power of silence at the wave of my hand. I hope to attain this by killing, because murder does not seem worthwhile otherwise. The ultimate sacrifice for the ultimate reward. It is only fair, is it not?

Brutus' voice booms over the occasional chatter, "The captain is experiencing some technical difficulties. I will be back out in a few. I am just going to help out a bit. Thank you for your patience and 'May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor.'"

The Capitol citizens go crazy at the direct quote. It's something of a slogan here, I personally find it rather disgusting, how they could celebrate something as brutal as this. But I guess that is sort of hypocritical of me, considering that I volunteered for this.

As Brutus leaves, Cato comes out and the crowd's uproar is deafening. Cato grins. We stand for a minute, just listening to the enthusiastic cheers. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my resolve to seem confident slowly shredding to pieces. Cato looks at me, noticing how nervous I am. I look back at him. "What now?" I whisper to him, too quiet for the citizens to hear.

"What now?" Cato echoes in disbelief.

I nod.

"Now…" he begins.

I close my eyes, biting my lip. I hear his voice over all the others.

"Now we give them a show."

With that, Cato cups my face in his hands and kisses me.

AN: Yay! Now that the third chapter is posted, I can be at ease. Sorry this took so long to post, I had writer's block. Ugh. But now it's up for all to see! I hope you guys like it! Review please! And maybe even favorite or follow! Thank you so much! I will try to post the next chapter more quickly.

~Flare


	4. Abraham's Daughter

I can't hear myself think over the roar of the crowd gathered around Cato and I. But it does not matter because my mind has been cleared of everything. Cato is kissing me for the cameras, faking a relationship. That's low, even for Cato. But I don't stop returning the favor, because if this is the angle we are going to play, I am going to play it for all it's worth. I wrap my arms around his neck. And I thought I'd heard loud already. It takes all my self-control to keep me from covering my ears with my hands.

After what seems like years, Cato and I break apart. I am faking a smile, but I know that in my eyes Cato sees how much he has just hurt me. If I am to go home, he has to die. I slip my fingers in between his, even though I want to leave him and run away, far away. He was right. He should be just another target. But he isn't. He's so much more, and I think this over as I lean my head on his shoulder.

This is wrong. I should be separating myself from him, not getting all the closer. But I can't help it, who could while looking into those blue eyes? I grin and then unwind my fingers from his. Once I have found the solitude of the dysfunctional train, I curl up in some corner and cry.

I realize that the train is not the only thing not working. My mind was truly the thing that is broken. I sang to myself quietly, my voice hushed, yet lovely. I sang a song my mother once taught me, one I sang repeatedly in my lonely room after a beating from my grandmother:

Abraham took Isaac's hand  
And led him to the lonesome hill  
While his daughter hid and watched  
She dared not breathe, she was so still

Just as an angel cried for the slaughter  
Abraham's daughter raised her voice  
Then the angel asked her what her  
Name was she said I have none  
Then he asked, "How can this be ?"  
"My father never gave me one "

And when he saw her raised for the slaughter  
Abraham's daughter raised her bow  
"How darest you child, defy your father?"  
"You better let young Isaac go"

I only notice Cato watching me after I have finished the song. He stares at me, wide-eyed. He opens and closes his mouth several times before asking: "Where did you hear that song?"

Furrowing my brow, I look back at him, "That song is over five hundred years old. I thought everyone knew it."

Shaking his head, Cato sinks to the floor. "My sister used to sing that song, she'd sing me to sleep. Her voice was the prettiest I'd ever heard. And last year she… Was killed in the Games."

I never knew that. Never. I suddenly realize the resemblance between Cato and last year's female tribute. Tears dripped down his face. Cato crying. This song must be all he has now. He has let me through his shield, somewhere he has only let his family go. He whispers something, barely audible, "You sound just like her."

Not knowing what else to do, I sit on the ground and hold Cato, singing the song again, making the words clear.

It's ironic though. The song was prophetic somehow. The characters are from some age-old book of worship, but there is a double-meaning. It strikes me.

The angel. The beautiful angel. The demonic angel. It is the Capitol. I think back to the reactions of the Capitol citizens when they saw me. They knew how Cato had a physical advantage over me, they couldn't wait to see me die.

The lonesome hill. It's the arena. It has to be.

Abraham, he's, he's the President. President Snow. Who else would be so cruel?

So Isaac is… I am Isaac. Cato is Isaac. All the tributes are Isaac.

Who is Abraham's daughter? I do not know. She must be yet to come.

"Come on," I say. "Brutus hasn't returned yet. We can watch the recap of the Reapings."

Cato nods and I lead him to his room. I sit him down in a chair, he seems incapable of doing it himself, and seat myself on the ground. I see my name being called, feel myself pushing away the young girl, and hear the laughter all over again. I had no idea that a film reel could capture so much.

The other Reapings are boring and plain. I take note of my fellow Careers, my allies. I am close to sleeping when I hear: "Prim! I volunteer!"

My eyes fly open. A volunteer? Is she mad? I see the girl from District 12 march onto the stage, her eyes defiant and cold. Katniss, they call her.

So Abraham's daughter has a name.

AN: What did you all think? Thank you for your support! I hope you like the song reference. No flames!

~~~Flare


	5. You're Going First

When Dacia shows Cato and I the Training Center, I am impressed. The elevator ride is fast and thrilling and I find that we get to our floor all too quickly. I have to clench my fists to keep myself from hitting the button that says "Lobby" on it. But never the less, I run into what I was informed to be my chamber. My room here is even grander than the one on the train, the options on the menu and in the bathroom more elaborate.

There is a loud knock on my door. "Now, don't get too comfortable," Enobaria sneers. "You've got to meet your prep team in five." I shrug her comment off. Not even she can steal this moment of complete giddiness from me. I finger the velvet curtains that hang on the wall. So soft and beautiful. How can such beauty come from these evils known as the Capitol?

I plunge on to my bed and let the soft linen envelop me. The timing is comical. I hear a knock at the door. And I was just getting comfortable. Three people, who I can't say look like people at all, trot through my door. They stare at me. The woman with green hair and no eye brows looks knowingly at the others. They throw a silk robe at me.

"We need you to put this on," Green Hair tells me. Umm, okay. I slip the robe over my small shoulders, wondering why they are making me do this.

"No, no, no!" The greenie woman slaps my shoulders, so hard they tingle. "Take off your clothes first." I gape at them. I ask loudly, "What!?"

"Take all your clothes off."

"No way! I'm not stripping for you! Is it not enough that you people are dressing me up for the slaughter? What, is that not enough of a show?" Oops. I can't believe I let that slip out. I worriedly bite my lip.

"Get out of your clothing, now," Green Hair demands quietly, her thin lips forming a tight line.

"Fine," I mutter. "You win." So I take off my clothes, and detest every second of it. To my relief, though, all of my Prep Team are female.

I learn Green Hair's actual name: Antonia. Her skin is engraved with swirling patterns, embedded with cobalt and it keeping my recent meals down demands all my self control. The cuts aren't even clean. They are ragged, and judging by the smell, part of her right arm is starting to rot away. No amount of perfume could hide this.

There are two more women, one with pink skin and flowers for hair named Celia and another one with blue scales and completely purple eyes named Kalypso. Kalypso is evidently in charge of hair, this I realize when she wordlessly attacks my scalp with a comb and dozens of gels and conditioners.

Celia does the same to my nails, fixing them and filing them to perfection. They pluck every hair they deem "Unnecessary" on my body. Eventually, they stop, and return to their initial work. My skin feels raw but suddenly they're telling me it's time for lunch.

After I am back in my robe, they usher me into a white room, undoubtedly the place I would have been prepped in had I not been late. Another door opens and Antonia pushes me through and slams the door without another word. For a moment, I am afraid they'd trapped me in a room full of venomous snakes or maybe a gas chamber, but I turn to see a man sitting on a couch, surrounded by everyday furniture. But it is all white.

"Sit down," he says. I've learned that disobeying will get me nowhere here, so I sit next to him. He places his arm around me. This makes me feel uncomfortable. He is what, almost forty? He has golden eyes and a golden glow to his skin that can only be a result of tanning. He also has golden hair, not natural, but as if they had melted the stuff and massaged it into his hair. His hair is styled so it swirls in the center of his forehead.

"My name is Helios." No kidding. "I am your stylist."

Another crazy one? I think so.

"Eat." Helios signals to a plate of food that must of appeared out of nowhere. My mouth waters, but for whatever reason, I do not trust this man. Has he poisoned the honey in my tea? Or added bad wheat to my dinner rolls? Something about Helios' obsession with gold unnerves me.

"I-I'm not hungry," I get out. He chuckles and crosses his legs. He tells me, "There is always one like you in some district."

"One like what?"

"Doesn't trust anyone. Clever, I'd say. But, honey-" Huh? I told you so. "-you are among friends here."

I raise my eyebrows at him. He is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. I now know to avoid the honey. "Maybe I should get you prepped up," he says. I smile to myself. Just another person wrapped around my finger.

He sends my prep team back in and they dress me for success. Just as I thought: gold. Golden plates and headdresses. Celia does minimal eye makeup, just adds mascara and gold eyeliner.

When I look in the mirror, I am not a girl and not just any woman either. I am a warrior, decked out in a gold armor suit and a headdress with fake little wings. Masonry. Clever. I look more like a warrior than a worker. That's just what I, and the audiences, need.

Helios decides I am ready to go and leads me downstairs. We meet Cato, who is in the same costume as I, and his stylist, Selene, who has an uncanny obsession with silver.

The horses are black, which surprises me, but I do not protest. The gates open and even when the District One tributes are barely out the door, the roar of the crowd is deafening. They've seen us, definitely. I wave at them, but I do not smile. I want to appear more powerful like Brutus. The girl in front of me, Glimmer, already seems like a total ditz. She catches all the audiences roses and return they're blown kisses. She already disgusts me.

But during my judgments, I have missed something. I turn around. Oh God. So much for being remembered. The District Twelve tributes are on fire. On fire! Now I will have to lurk in their shadows. I squint. Thanks Katniss.

I'm getting you first. I'll make sure of that.

* * *

AN: Oh, Clove. So what did y'all think? Love it? Hate it? Want more of it? BTW, I have been wondering whether or not this story should be AU, so you guys can vote:

AU or Not AU

in the reviews or on my poll on my account. Love y'all! See you!

~~~Flare


	6. The Follower

I storm into the elevator after the parade. When the doors slide open at my floor, I throw my headdress aside and it hits the boy from Five in the head. Whatever. I tromp into my room, slam the door, run into the soundproof closet, and begin to scream. I scream and scream until my throat is rubbed raw. I curse my own arrogance and idiocy. How could I let that rotten hellcat upstage me? She's making her death a million times more painful.

I grin at the thought of me being the one taking Katniss out. Maybe I'll dig a knife into her palms and wait for her shrieks. And then I'll shave her hair and choke her with it. It's going to happen. It has to. Why wouldn't it?

Falling to my knees, I breathe deeply, my throat hoarse. I open the closet door and fall into my bed. I punch in some numbers on the panel next to my bedside table and an Avox appears with tea in a matter of seconds. He adds some sugar, having heard of my hatred of honey, and handed me the cup. I look at the man, or should I say, boy. He looks about fourteen, my age. I squint and command, "Hum something for me."

The boy looks startled, but obliges. His voice or…. hum is gentle and melodious. I know it would sound better with lyrics, but there is only so much you can do with the likes of an Avox. They cut this boy's tongue? Why to him? The reason better be valid if the Capitol had to destroy his voice. This soothing voice. I sigh softly. Music is wonderful.

The song ends and the Avox gets up and leaves. The tune was lovely but I don't object; I don't like letting my guard down around others. Sleep is not an option in the wake of other humans, or beings of any kind for that matter.

After a few hours, I finally drift off.

* * *

I wake up at the brink of dawn and bolt out of bed. I throw on the first clothes I grab and practically fly down the stairs. Finally! My first day of training. I get to see my competition and show them what they have to live up to. Because in a few weeks, they'll all be dead. I stop in my tracks. Even Cato will be dead. No, I will live no matter what. If I have to stab Marvel in the chest and cast him into the sea. Whether I have to set Glimmer on fire and watch her burn. Whether I… My thoughts falter.

Just concentrate on surviving, Clove. That's all that matters. I find myself a chair and see no one is awake. I snag some pastry called waffles and dust it with sugar. Shoving it in my mouth, I turn to see Dacia traipse into the dining room. She chirps, "Clove, why are you up so early?"

Swallowing my food, I tell her, "So I can get to training earlier."

"It starts at ten, dear."

"What's your point?" I snarl.

She shakes her head, sighing. Dacia mutters something about "rude behavior" and helps herself to a plate of glazed pineapple. We sit in silence for another, painful ten minutes before Enobaria joins us. She is cranky and evasive as ever and doesn't say a word. Eventually, Brutus staggers in. He collapses in a chair, half asleep. "Good morning, ladies," he booms, his voice loud even in his exhaustion. "And Enobaria."

Enobaria doesn't seem to take this as an insult. Judging by her brutality and obvious lack of couth, she is anything but a lady. I take a third waffle and reply, "Good morning, sir."

Brutus grins. You hear that? 'Sir'. You know," he says. "I like this girl. She knows how to treat people right, but she doesn't let that get in her way."

He cast a knowing glance at Enobaria, who just stares at her full plate. "I'm not hungry," she mutters, not looking up from her dish. Dacia squeaks, "The way Miss Clove asserts herself is hardly what I'd call 'polite', Mister Brutus." Dang. That stings. I clear my throat and glare at Dacia. She raises her eyebrows, obviously knowing what is to come.

"I'm sorry," I say, a little too sweetly. "But since I have to go kill 23 kids in a matter of weeks, being polite to others is the last thing on my priority list."

Judging by her glare, I have made an enemy of Dacia. Cato chooses this awkward moment to saunter into the car and help himself to a syrupy waffle. He is on his fourth when he notices our stares. He misunderstands our gazes. "What?" he asks. "Am I not allowed to eat?"

His voice is growing defensive. This is the Cato I know from school. "Watch your tongue, Cato," Enobaria growls. "Remember, you're dealing with seasoned killers…" She casts a glance at Dacia… "And escorts. You just have bad timing." She points an accusing fork at him.

Cato rolls his eyes. "Like I give a crap," he mutters.

Dacia gasps. "What did you just say?"

"Like-"

Dacia squeals, "Watch your language young man! Or you'll be dead long before the Games have started!" Wow. So this is the real Dacia, eh? A freak about "potty language". Go figure.

Shrieking, Dacia loses her head and begins spouting everything any of the past tributes have done wrong. She spews harsh profanities that I would have never have gotten away with. This is what the Games have done to her. Dacia scoops up a pie plate and throws it at Brutus, who dodges it with ease. Two heavy-set Capitol attendants come in and drag her away, despite her protest.

A third attendant trots in, her face stern and stiff as her stature, and says, "We apologize for the inconvenience. Your escort is ill and is now being sent through rehabilitation. Until then, you will be assigned a substitution."

As she leaves, the attendant passes a man. The man cannot be much older than Cato and looks vaguely similar, despite the dark hair and feathers sprouting from his shoulder blades.

The man nods tersely despite our piercing stares. "Morning, my name is Icarus deMonte." Of course, another follower.

* * *

AN: Okay, so did anyone get that last part? Whoever gets it get virtual hugs and ice cream from me! I just want to say thank you to all my reviewers and followers. I wouldn't be here without you, I actually lost interest with this a while ago, but you all brought me back. Thank you and hugs to all!

~~~Flare


	7. Pride, My Fatal Flaw

Icarus locks his light blue eyes on me. I avert his gaze, determined to not let my interest show. Who is this man? Why is he replacing Dacia? I sniff. This man is nothing special, on the inside anyway. Dacia was pretty messed up, but this man has wings -WINGS- sprouting out of his back.

He continues to stare at me and I continue to pretend he isn't there. He shouldn't be. The chirpy woman with the funny wardrobe should. I always assumed the Capitol citizens had problems, but rehabilitation? That is plain ridiculous. I sneak a glance at Cato, who is just as alarmed as I am. He mouths to me, _What is going on?_

I shake my head. How I wish I knew. Before long, Enobaria is yanking me out of my chair. I fall hard on the ground. Suddenly, I'm back home, being launched in the air, only to hit the stone floor. My grandmother towers over me. She opens her crinkly mouth and screams, "You rat! Get up! Get up!"

I cover my ears, my resolve to appear on top of it all is long gone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me. It is not my grandmother's harsh clutch, it's gentler but still firm.

Opening my eyes to see Brutus freaks me out, I'll admit that much. His eyes are surprised and alert, ready to respond to anything sent his way. "It's her grandmother. She abused Clove," I hear Cato say. How dare he! Expose such a weakness to my mentors, who up until now actually thought I could win? He is really going to get it now. Baring my teeth in a scowl, I lunge at Cato.

I actually bowl him over and scratch his face several times before Enobaria tears us apart. She looks a bit dazed. Her grip loosens as Cato begins to bleed profusely and I wriggle free. Cato glares at me and I return the favor. I growl, "I told you to respect me, Thomson. These are the consequences."

To be honest, I expect the Capitol attendants to come and take me away like they did with Dacia. But they don't and I am grateful. Brutus puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. He looks at me, his gaze a mix of awe and disapproval. He tells me, "You should get to training."

* * *

I am the first to get to the basement. I find a wall clock that tells me it is fifteen after eight. Spellbound, I make my way to the wall on the right side. On it are hundreds of knives. My hand automatically picks the smallest one. I have barely curled my fingers around it when a voice alarms me. I turn on my heel, knife in hand.

A woman, middle-aged with perfectly sculpted muscles hidden under her jumpsuit, makes her way towards me. Her strides are long and firm and it does not take long for her to end up face-to-face with me; or, shall I say, face to chest. She is tall, like, as tall as some of the buildings here and I am again reminded of how small I am compared to these other competitors.

But this woman is no tribute. She has been trained to battle much longer than any of my fellow Careers. "Who are you?" I ask, my words more hostile than I planned them to be, but I don't mind. It makes me seem like more of a threat.

She laughs. Not a cold one, but a normal laugh. A laugh you would hear from the tongue of someone who is happy. Amused. This irritates me. I am by no means something to be made fun of, but a force to be reckoned with. "Put the knife down," she instructs me, still stifling a chuckle. "I'm not going to attack you. My name's Atala. I'm the instructor here at the Training Center."

Oh. That makes a lot more sense. Embarrassed, I hang the knife back up on the wall. "Clove," I tell her, keeping the sharp edge to my voice. To my annoyance, she giggles again.

"We've got a fighter? I'll keep an eye out for you. Just stay away from the knives until everyone else it here." With great effort, I follow this instruction for one and a half hours.

By 9:45, all the tributes have filtered, weary and blurry-eyed, into the Training Center. All but, I notice, Katniss and her counterpart, Pumpernickel? I haven't bothered to remember his name. Again, Atala warns us that practicing is forbidden until ten o'clock.

I strut over to Marvel, who is drooling over Glimmer, who is flirting with Cato. I am forced to swallow my bile. Glimmer flips her hair, which, to her satisfaction, catches the little light in the room and shimmers brightly. This turns the head of half the boys in the room, even the Gamemakers. I hear one whistle to her and others tell her how gorgeous she is and that they'd do anything for her if she weren't condemned to death. Those last words I enjoy. At least everyone realizes she doesn't stand a chance.

The Gamemaker's amused cheers are interrupted by the opening of doors. Katniss and Panloaf have arrived. Atala acknowledges their presence by explaining to us the rules in training: No attempts of escaping, no fighting with other tributes, and a load of other blather I can't remember. The lecture drags out for what seems like forever and I am relieved when they allow us to disperse.

Like a child, I sprint to the Knife-Throwing Station, District 4 girl, whose name I believe is Andrea, and Glimmer close behind. I come alive, taking blade after blade and flinging them at the targets. I pretend they are my adversaries. Eat knives, Glimmer! Say hello to my parents for me, Pitabread! Die, Katniss! I know, my obsession with murder is psychotic, but in my position, psychotic is as good as it gets.

I have seven blades lodged in the forehead of the dummy I dub "Marvel" when I realize I have used all the knives. I have to wait thirty minutes until I can use them again. Furious, I stomp over to the Fire-Making Station, Andrea in tow. I plunge onto the bench and injure my tailbone on the hard wood. Spewing curses, I take some string and kindling and rub it together. Brow furrowed, I concentrate on my work. Eventually, I use a sharp rock to make stakes out of the kindling. Katniss sits down next to Andrea and has a fire going in a matter of seconds.

My mouth drops open. Not again! I fumble with my pile of stakes and chuck one at the wall. It flies by Katniss' head, just as I plan, since I only want to spook her. She stares at me, eyes wide, before shaking her head as if to clear it. Then she ducks back down to do her work. Of course it didn't spook her.

I grow desperate. I mix a Capitol sink cleanser and two gallons of gasoline in a bucket, then throw a match in. **_BOOM!_** The noise echoes around the room and all eyes fall on me. I smirk, pleased with myself, until I feel something creeping up my arm. Oh my god. The fire has spread to my sleeves. I scream, louder than I have ever screamed before.

I grab hold of a second bucket, which is thankfully filled with water. I soak my sleeves in it, sighing.

But suddenly, I realize where I am. I turn. Everyone, _everyone_ is staring at me. I've made a fool of myself in front of the Gamemakers.

* * *

AN: So, an extra-long chapter! It was a bit of a filler, yes, and I have to say I'm still not very happy with it :/ Hopefully, you won't all hate me for this lower-than-the-standard chapter, but, hey, I got it up. It's basically supposed to add to the fact that Clove is human, therefore, she has flaws. R&R, please!

~~~Flare


	8. Two Birds, a Vixen, and the Girl on Fire

I make it my top priority to act, well, civilized for the next few days of training. Dacia does not return; I have to spend my meals blowing on Icarus' feathers to ease my boredom. This habit stops after Enobaria slaps me across the face for irritating the escort. But Icarus' face is not irritated, but smug. "You should let her, it seems to me she likes what she sees," he says.

My jaw drops at the remark. Brutus coughs loudly and Cato spits his cereal back into the bowl. I throw my plate at Icarus before taking off down the hall and elevator.

Finally, I reach the Training Center. I spend time with a fox-faced girl, who tells me her name is Finch. She is evasive, even as I badger her with questions, trying to find her weakness."What District are you from?"

"Five."

"What's your family like?"

"I don't have one."

I bite my lip at her response. She's made it obvious that she an orphaned only child. Like me. A small girl by the name of Rue, a flighty little bird, is her complete opposite. I make no good conversation with her, she just spills the beans anyway. Rue has five siblings, lives in District Eleven and is absolutely, head-over-heels in love with music. This is the only thing we have in common. I find myself wondering what her strengths may be. Katniss keeps glancing our way; it's clear she has taken a liking to Rue.

Still, I believe that I have finally shown Katniss up. I sit, on the last day of public training, with Andrea at the Weapon-Smelting Station. Katniss has been sitting here for hours, sweating over a dagger. I have a basic sword done in two hours. She only glances up at me before going back to work. I growl on the inside. I get up, leaving Andrea to work on her mace, and walk over to Cato, who hasn't quite mastered spear-throwing. Rolling my eyes, I grab the one in his hand. He turns at me, as if to attack me, but sees who it is and thinks better of it.

His tense shoulders slouch a little and his bright blue eyes glaze over. "Oh," he greets me dryly. "Hello Clove."

Not this again. "Hi Cato," I reply, struggling to get a single decent conversation going. I hold the spear up and say, "Here, let me show you what you're doing wrong-"

"Am I really that bad at everything?!" Cato shouts. I blink stupidly. This is not going how I planned it.

"No. I-"

"You know what? Forget it," he mutters, heaving up the whole case of spears and chucking it across the room. Then he storms off. Glimmer, I notice, has seen this. She throws a smirk at me, then flounces off to comfort him. So much for me being a help. I resign myself to hanging out with Marvel and throwing spears. I actually manage to enjoy myself.

He cracks lots of jokes. Marvel has a great sense of humor and, for the first time in years, I'm laughing. Really laughing. When it's time for lunch, I give Marvel a hug. God knows we all need one. And I also thank him, because I did have fun throwing those spears and thinking up jokes.

This earns dirty looks from both Cato and Glimmer. They end up whispering more than usual. I'm concerned. What are they planning to do? But just one glance at my schedule tells me.

* * *

I contemplate Glimmer and Cato's plan to sabotage my chances of survival. No doubt they'll wear me out in the arena, then turn around and stab me in the back. In District Two, Cato was known to do this. I stay up the whole night until the sun is high. I am drifting into a light sleep when I hear a familiar knock at my door. Throwing on a thin, velvet robe, I fling the door open.

There, though bedraggled and sleepless, stands Dacia. I haven't realized how much I missed her. I throw my arms around her and she staggers. Her voice is hoarse and rumbling when she speaks, "Good morning Clove, dear."

"Hi, Dacia," I say back, grinning. Oh, it was so different without her around. It was absolutely awful having to wake up to see Icarus every day. "I'm so glad you're back. I-"

"No," Dacia hisses. "You have to get to your private training session. You're late!"

I make a beeline for the kitchen but she stops me. "No time for breakfast, go!"

So I sprint down the hall, launch myself into the elevator, and punch the button that reads "TC". I've barely made it to the waiting room when Marvel's name is being called. He glances at me nervously. I catch his hand and give it a squeeze. Marvel gives me a weak smile before heading out the door. I sit in my designated seat, which is, of course, between Cato and Glimmer's.

The two smirk at each other before Glimmer asks me, "So. What's, like, deal with you and Marvel?"

I glance at them both. "Nothing, we're just friends."

"Maybe, more than friends?" Cato pipes up.

"Yeah, like the brother I never had." This is true. Marvel and I would be great friends but spouses? Ew, just ew. Glimmer opens her mouth to add another cutting remark when I cut her off. "What about you two? That can't be 'just friends'!"

Glimmer rolls her eyes as if she's talking to the biggest idiot in the world. Her name is called. She acts like she's surprised. "Oo! It's my turn. Toodles!"

Cato and I sit in silence until it's his turn. He throws me a glare. "Hope I don't mess up at this, too."

I sigh. "Cato-" But he's already left.

I sit for a painful thirty minutes, exchanging fearful glances with Andrea and her counterpart, Reef. And then it's time. I take a deep breath and walk through the door.

The Gamemakers are not to drunk when I see them, but incoherent enough to ignore me. I still manage to make my mark, throwing knives anywhere I can throw them. One hits a light bulb dead center; this causes a large flash. In shock, several men drop little notes they have been holding, which fall close enough for me to read them.

See you during the Victory Tour,

Love, XOXO,

~Glimmer~

This is Glimmer's master plan? Icky, just plain gross. Sadly, though, it worked. And I've thrown every blade already and the weapons are all lodged in bulls eyes. I have nothing more to show the Gamemakers. I can only hope that I've showed off enough.

* * *

After dinner, I tell Dacia everything. Now that she's gone through rehab, I can trust her with all things confidential. I grow to see her as an older sister. She warns me to watch Katniss, Glimmer and even Finch and Rue, but I tune her out on the last ones. I talk to Dacia about the training, even as they are broadcasting the scores.

"Shhh!" Cato shushes us, all his anger at me forgotten in his moment of giddiness. "Here comes District One's scores!"

Marvel gets a nine and I cheer out loud. Cato responds the same way to Glimmer's six. Pathetic.

"Cato Thomson from District Two, a ten!" Cato whoops and dances around the room. I have to strain to hear my score.

"Clove Breach… Two… a score of ten!" I feel boundless joy shoot through me and I am suddenly jumping around with Cato. Enobaria yanks us both down onto the couch.

Andrea gets an eight and Reef, a seven. Just to show Dacia that I do listen to her lectures, I remark on Finch's five and Rue's seven. I have just begun to relax when I hear Caesar Flickerman announce District Twelve's scores.

"For Peeta Mellark, District Twelve, an eight." I roll my eyes. Bloodbath death. For sure.

"And finally, for Katniss Everdeen from District Twelve, a score of… Eleven!"

Wait, what? AGAIN? Cato stops for a moment and contemplates this. Then he grabs a large vase and chucks it across the room. He gushes curse words. but Dacia, Enobaria and Brutus are all so shocked, they do nothing to stop him.

Again. Again! I've been upstaged again! I don't even care about Rue or Finch or even Glimmer anymore! This is getting repetitive. The two birds and the vixen can wait, I'm after Little Miss Girl on Fire.

* * *

AN: Wow! This chapter was even longer than the last one! I love you all, hope you enjoyed this and please keep those R&Rs coming!

~~~Flare


	9. One Day More

Helios slips a sparkling red dress over my head and the skirt brushes my toes. My hair is half up and curled at the dark ends. My make-up is minimal, but too fancy. I stare in the mirror. Who is the girl looking back? It can't be me. I'm a fine-tuned killer, not a total ditz like the girl I see before me. This outfit is an insult to everything I am.

Expecting me to love the dress, Helios smirks. "You like it?"

I sneer at the girl who's supposedly me. "No. I hate it."

This has become a routine and Helios snakes around the comment. "Too bad, honey. We can't have you dressing the way you want to in public."

"And why not?"

"You have the worst sense of fashion I have ever seen."

Oh, thanks for that. That makes everything better. I raise my high-heeled foot and slam it down on Helios' toes. He drops to the ground as I storm away. I flee down the halls, not caring where I'm going. On many accounts, I should be arrested. But Dacia would not approve of me being sent into permanent custody of the Capitol; she would fight against it until her dying days.

But within minutes, I'm lost down the twisting hallways and I have to ask for help. I find the burliest Capitol attendant possible, and ask casually, "So, where are the interviews?"

He raises a thick, gray eyebrow and stares at me. "The second right, then out the door to your left, you'll end up backstage. But you better get going, girl. The District One boy is scheduled to go up in two minutes."

No, no, no. I cannot miss Marvel's interview. He's one of the only two people I care about here. Just him, Dacia and... that's it. I hike up my fluffy, pointless skirt and run as hard as I can, following the exact directions I was given. I burst through the door and shout, "Marvel!"

I clap my hands over my mouth. _What have I become?_ I think through clenched teeth._ Some prissy fan-girl_. No, no. This cannot happen to the focused, lethal killer that I am, or was. I dare myself to peek at the stage. Glimmer is still up. My voice has been lost in the shrieks of the crowd, and no one notices me. My skirt trails behind me as I walk and find my designated place in line. Dressed in a dark suit, Marvel leans slightly towards me to ask, "Where the heck were you?"

Ducking my head in anger and slight shame, I reply, "Alright, I lost my head at my stylist and I stormed off and got lost. Happy?"

Marvel cocks his head and puts a clueless look on his face. He mumbles sarcastically, "But how'd you get your head back?"

I stifle a laugh. "Shut up", I say through my smile.

The name "Marvel" is yelled from the stage and he straightens up. "Wish me luck."

He strides towards the stage and stumbles as he gets to his chair. Caesar Flickerman helps him stand back up, but I've already heard the snicker from behind me. I jerk my left foot backwards, and the heel hits squarely at Cato's shin. He gives a little squeal of pain and I smile to myself. Marvel exits the stage after his time is up and we cross like ships in the night. He casts me a glance, one that tells me to do well and not trip or anything.

And I don't. I land safely in my circular chair and cross my legs the way Dacia taught me, at the ankles. I keep my hands folded in my lap and smile a little at Caesar. Not a warm smile, more of a knowing smirk. He can tell that my behavior is not to be taken lightly, but he politely neglects to bring up the topic. "So Clove, how are you enjoying the Capitol?"

I scrunch up my nose slightly, to add to my overall prissy look. That's the focus of my interview: the lethal perfectionist. "Honestly", I begin. "I was expecting a lot more-"

Murmurs of mixed awe and disapproval emanate from the crowd.

"-but this will do for now..." I finish. Caesar chuckles, as if he has expected such an answer since the moment I sat down. He asks me, "Well, how can we improve?"

The mutters of disappointment turned to laughter. I grin weakly, trying to ignore the unintended sarcasm behind his comment. _Lose the attitude, for starters_, I want to say, but I don't. I rest my finger on my chin, looking up thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, I asked for room service the other day, and the rolls were cold."

Total lie. The rolls were warm and delicious. But I need something to be picky about.

"What? We can't have you going into the arena starved!" Caesar pretends to look horrified.

"Oh, but Caesar," I remind him. "I'll be entering _and leaving_ the arena with a full stomach."

Caesar throws his head back, laughing. "Now, _that's_ the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear!"

I giggle. Fakely. But it's convincing enough to have the crowd cheering.

With raised eyebrows, Caesar looks very earnestly at me. "Any nice boys you're waiting to see again?" he teases.

I laugh out loud. "Don't kid yourself, Caesar. They're all waiting for _me_."

The buzzer goes off and I cringe. I curse myself. I didn't have enough time to make a real difference! I went completely by wit! Only someone like Marvel, tall, worthy of remembrance, could get away with something like that. But I? I am small, skinny. If it weren't for my skill with knives, I'd be treated like some kind of doormat.

I scowl at Cato as I walk away from my chair and he gives me some sort of crooked smirk. I pass quickly through a door backstage and there stands Glimmer, leaned against the wall.

"Nice job," she sneers. "Way to be memorable." She crosses over to me and twirls a lock of my hair around her fingers. Invisible hate beams are coming from both of us and though they are imaginary, they still burn. I swat her hand away and my perfectly circular nails leave red scratches on her porcelain skin. Her face contorts with anger and she grabs me by the shoulders, digging her talons into my back.

I aim a perfect blow at her cheek bone and she staggers backwards, cradling the bruise. I snarl, "If you want a real battle, you've got one."

Somehow, my thoughts land on Marvel. I can hear his voice in my head, singing: _Cat-fight!_

In the time that I am thinking, Glimmer shoves me to the floor. I grab her arm as I fall, pulling her down with me. My tailbone objects when I hit the ground, but I pounce on Glimmer and yank a handful of her blonde curls out of her head. Despite her outcry, she returns the favor until we're both a single mess of flailing and screeching flesh.

People direct shouts of, "Hey! Break it up!" at Glimmer and I, but we keep tumbling around and screaming until someone comes and tears us apart.

It's a Peacekeeper. I struggle out of his out of his grip, grit my teeth, and stomp off, throwing Glimmer the dirtiest glare I can muster.

* * *

I wake up in my room, completely unaware that I'd even gotten upstairs or fallen asleep. I'm still in my interview dress, so I get up and change into night clothes. There's a knock on the door. My run-in with Glimmer has tired me too much to even be snippy, so I just shout, "Door's open."

Cato comes in and says, "Where were you?" He's in his nightclothes as well, but his hair is still gelled the way it was for the interview. Wait, is it? I realize that I wasn't there to see the interviews that came after mine.

I rub my eyes tiredly. "Cato," I groan. "We go in the arena tomorrow. Can't you let me get my sleep?"

To my irritation, Cato sits himself on the foot of my bed. "Where were you? I got backstage after my interview and saw Glimmer leave. She looked she awful. She also said I need to keep a handle on my girlfriend."

Bolting upright, I shriek, "Girlfriend! Where the heck did she get that idea?"

"Never mind. That's not important-" Oh, okay. Thanks for nothing- "But there is something that Peeta said during his interview."

"Bread Boy?" I groan. "What's important about him?"

"He confessed his 'undying love' for Katniss," Cato sighs, shaking his head. "They're playing up some star-crossed lover angle, now."

"What a cheese ball," I mutter. "Well, you should get going."

Cato cocks his head, eyebrows raised. "Why?"

I throw a pillow at his face, with accuracy that impresses even me. "Because we are not playing up that angle. Now get out."

Cato leaves and I drift off, really realizing that I might have just one day more to live.

* * *

AN: Sorry for that super-late update! Writer's block I guess. But I think I'm getting back in the groove, so expect more chapters soon, but not too soon.

~~~Flare

PS Yes, "One Day More" was a Les Miserables reference.


	10. Let The Games Begin

I wake up early the next morning, but everyone is awake already. I trudge down to the dining room, just as the sunlight is shining through the blinds. Dacia and Enobaria sit alone at the table staring at their untouched plates. I remain standing, but place my hands on the table. "Where's Cato? And Brutus?"

Dacia wipes her dampened face with a piece of fabric. A frilly handkerchief the same purple as her skin. She's been crying. "They're gone, Clove, dearie. They've left already."

My grip on the table tightens. "Why? When?"

Enobaria doesn't look up, and a low croak escapes her lips. "About an hour ago. They wanted a head start."

"Head start?" I echo. "Getting up early isn't going to help them." I don't need to mention what they need help with, considering the answer is pretty obvious.

She shakes her head. "Just eat. And we'll leave."

"I'm not hungry," I tell her. "Let's just go now."

Dacia's body is racked with sobs. I put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Once I win, we can go out. Shopping, or something. Whatever you want."

She gives a watery chuckle and envelops me in a tight embrace. I stiffen a little at her startling strength. "I'll miss you so much, dear."

Enobaria takes me by the elbow and pulls me out of Dacia's hug. She leads me out of the room.

* * *

My flight to the arena is by airship. The trip is long and tedious and I find myself feeling claustrophobic. My breathing grows shallow and I beg myself to calm down. Once the ship lands, I am pushed into the catacombs of the arena.

I find myself in a large room that has a sort of clinical smell. Helios stands beside a long, metal table. There, spread on the counter-top, is my outfit for the arena. A maroon jacket, a matching shirt, green pants, a leather belt. My heart is racing uncontrollably. I've never had such horrible nerves before. Not in all my years, with or without parents. It's crazy and frankly freaks me out a little.

Helios makes me sit in a cool, slick chair. He twists my hair into a high, clean ponytail with strange 'bubbles' at the end. At least, they look like bubbles. The point is, it keeps my hair out of my face.

"_Tributes must enter their chambers in 60 seconds_," says a cold, robotic voice. I look around. Chamber? Suddenly, I spot a cylinder in the corner, made of clear glass. I look to Helios for confirmation, but he doesn't say a word. I approach my chamber. "_30 seconds_."

I begin to hyperventilate. "Helios?" I whisper.

"Go," is all he tells me. Helios nudges me into the chamber.

_"10 seconds." _

_"_Any advice for me?" I ask him, straightening in the tall cylinder.

_"Five seconds."_

"Don't die," he says coldly and the doors slide shut between us. Thanks. That was _great_ advice.

I see his icy stare. His golden eyes. No longer radiant, but hostile. The platform beneath me rises and I realize that I've been gripping the sides of my jacket. I don't release my grip, but keep holding on, as if my jacket is the only concrete thing around me. Maybe it is.

Let the games begin.

* * *

The sudden contact with natural sunlight momentarily blinds me. I blink several times, hoping the effect will soon wear off. It does and I am suddenly staring at the Cornucopia. Trees on one side, lake on the other, and just a hard, dirt plain from here to the golden horn. My heart is close to exploding out of my chest, the adrenaline coursing through me is unbelievable. My eyes land on a vest filled with dozens of knives and my feet itch to run. But I have to wait or I'll be blown to bits by the pressure-sensitive mines underneath me.

Before I know it, the gong is sounding. I run by instinct, snatch the knife vest, and pull it on, all in about two seconds. I want to sit down and admire my shiny, new weapons so badly, but that's probably the dumbest thing someone in my situation could do.

I duck into the Cornucopia and stuff my pockets with anything that might come in handy. Steel wool, raisins, rope, titanium silverware, lighter fluid, water purifier, gauze and bandages. Some weird, red oval labeled "Swiss Army". Hmm...

I dash out outside to see an unbelievably scrawny boy and a smallish girl struggle over an orange backpack. My hand flies to my vest and pulls out a knife. I send the blade flying into the boy's back. He staggers, coughs blood in the girl's face, and drops to the ground. The girl's gray eyes are full of repulsion and terror. I recognize her a second before she sees me.

Katniss. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she flees into the woods, but not before I send a knife her way. The chaos behind me rages on, but I watch as Katniss pulls up her backpack and the blade gets stuck in her bag. Oh, come on! Enraged, I wait as her figure melts into the trees.

I've just turned around when something knocks me into the dirt. It pins me down and stares me in the face. Reef, from District Four. The look on his face is maniacal. "Hey, Clove-y. Couldn't even take down a little girl from District Twelve?"

Little? Katniss is small for her age, but still taller than I am. I struggle to reach my vest, to reach a knife. My fingers land on a smooth blade that I pull out and drive into Reef's arm. He recoils with a yelp and I shove him off. I pin him down. I'm about to sink the knife in him for a second time when a spear whizzes past my head and into his chest. He chokes up and his eyes glaze over.

I turn to see Marvel approach Reef's body and free the spear. He gives me a half-hearted smile and goes to the lake to wash off the blood. The plain is empty of people other than the dead bodies and my fellow Career Tributes. Cato, Glimmer, and Andrea all stand, staring at the rapidly-cooling object in front of them. Reef was never of much use anyway.

* * *

AN: How was that? It was a little rushed, so some feedback would be great.

~~~Flare


	11. The Least of My Priorities

I sit down on the hard-packed earth and sort through the contents of my pockets; steel wool, raisins, rope, titanium silverware, lighter fluid, water purifier, gauze and bandages, and that weird "Swiss Army" thing. I put them in piles: food and dining, shelter, wounds, weaponry. The "Swiss Army" thing remains miscellaneous. I run my finger along the ovular edge and press against it.

Immediately, several silvery blades are pushed into view. My eyes widen until I fear that they'll fall out. Knives, pliers, filing tools, even scissors, all packed in one object. This has got to be the most useful item in the Cornucopia. I slide the Swiss Army tool into my pocket and start sorting the knives in my vest. I pull a fine, thin one out of its slot. A glint of blonde catches my eye and I scoff, "You're not getting any compliments from _me_, Glimmer."

The blonde figure does not step forward, but retreats into the woods. Bolting upright, I abandon my pile and lunge, knife in hand, at the other tribute. I maneuver through the trees and throw myself at my victim. I bowl him into the mossy ground and have the knife at his throat in seconds. His back slams in the dirt and I'm poised over him. Sweaty, out of breath, and smiling proudly, I'm about to sink the blade into the left artery of his neck when I recognize him.

"_Peeta_?" I spit in disbelief. Then I laugh, a little cruelly. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"I won't tell you," he gasps, still fazed by the knife resting on his neck. "Unless you let me live."

I lead the metal edge of my knife along his collar bone, allowing a trickle of blood to dribble out. I smile to myself. There are footsteps behind me. "Well," I say quietly. "You're not in much of a position to be making deals, now, are you?"

"Please," he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears are starting to well up. "Just let me live."

Okay, well. I know he's playing up the compassionate angle, but last time I checked, _compassionate_ is not synonymous with _crybaby_.

The footsteps are growing louder and nearer. I find the courage to look up. Glimmer glares downward, flanked by the others. She has one hand on her hip and a smug look on her face.

"Well," Andrea prods, stepping forward. "Kill him!"

"No!" Cato commands, already in charge. Why's he always in charge? "Don't kill him."

Peeta opens his eyes slowly.

"Let 'Lover Boy' live for now," Cato finishes, resting his brand new sword on his shoulder. For once, I agree with him.

"He says he'll lead us to his girlfriend," I say to the rest, sneering in Peeta's face. He flinches, but holds his ground.

"Katniss?" Glimmer utters.

I roll my eyes. "What other girlfriends would he have?"

Despite himself, Peeta blushes. The cannons interrupt our nice, little chat. Eleven cannons. Thirteen of us left. Marvel steps up beside me and slowly eases the knife out of my hand. "Easy there, Clovester."

I wrinkle my nose. "Clovester?"

Marvel pulls Peeta up by the hand. Peeta regains his footing, but stumbles as Cato grabs his collar. Cato shouts, "Come on!"

I follow him, though reluctantly, as I dust off my trousers which were soiled in my recent confrontation. I find myself saying, "You heard him. Come on!"

I disgust myself by sounding so submissive to Cato, but hey, second in command is better than last in command.

Cato leads us back to the Cornucopia. He opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him. "Everyone scour the Cornucopia! We need to bring the best stuff with us."

We split apart, surrounding the golden horn. The dampened earth is getting warm and the birdsong is getting louder. Judging by the sun, it's high noon. I begin inspecting a knife instead. They've got quite the collection going when I realize something. But in that same moment, I am knocked over. Peeta has shoved me into the dirt and is now disappearing into the woods. And I'm running after him. Again.

I flick my wrist and my knife whizzes through the air. It catches on Peeta's sleeve and he plummets, face first, into the mud. Once the other Careers have caught up, Marvel fastens a length of rope around Peeta's wrists. I grab Peeta by the collar and try to pull him upwards. But I'm too small and he's surprisingly muscular for a District 12 tribute. I drop him onto the ground, splattering the mud onto my boots. Then I kick Peeta in the ribs once, for good measure.

"Watch your step, Lover Boy," I jeer. "All that's waiting for you is a slippery slope." Literally.

My "allies" laugh, except for Glimmer. And I have to admit, I'm pretty pleased with myself. Peeta digs his dirty fingers into the mud and flings a wad of the stuff at my face. He misses by more than a foot, but it still irritates me. I kick his ribs again, harder this time, and smile when he cries out.

Once more, we all make our way out of the woods. The lake is sparkling blue, so blue that my breath catches. I'm usually not such a total sap, but I swear, this blue is the bluest blue in all of Panem. Maybe in the whole world. Without a subconscious thought, I undress until I'm in my underclothes. Then I take a running jump into the crystal water. My hands swirl around me, tainted blue in the distorted light. I dance underwater for as long as my breath allows. It's only when I resurface and see the rest of them that I remember where I am. That not only _they_ have seen me in such little clothing, but that most of _Panem _has seen me in such little clothing.

Talk about awkward.

I wring out my ponytail and find a large rock to sit on. I manage to cover myself with some sort of tarp. Although decency isn't much of an issue, the little clothing I have on covering me pretty well, I can't help but feel icky. Every once in a while, I look over to see whether the others are still watching. They go back to their own business, so I start swirling patterns into the lake's shore with a stick. My underclothes have dried by now, so I pull on my moss-colored trousers and maroon shirt and jacket. I sift through a backpack, making sure everything we need is there.

Something yanks at my arm and pulls me headfirst into the water.

I splutter when I reach the air and watch, fuming, as Marvel practically dies of laughter. His guffawing overcomes him so much, that he actually goes under a few times. While this amuses me quite a bit, it also makes me aware of the fact that _all_ of my clothing is now drenched. I'm now extremely susceptible to any epidemic the Gamemakers choose to send our way.

And that's just the least of my priorities.

* * *

AN: I don't have to much to say right about now. How was the chapter? R & R, please! :)  
~~~Flare


	12. What Makes A Game

**AN: I've received a few reviews asking when the romance in this story kicks off, and I completely understand the curiosity. The thing is, though, that Clove is still trying to find out the easiest way to survive in the Games. Her plan may involve killing her allies when they sleep, but she herself is just not certain.**

**What does this have to do with her feelings for Cato? Here are three examples:  
1)** Indications of her feelings for him are in the story. They are subtle, but still there. Her hatred for Glimmer, her need for Marvel's companionship, and her showing off are all hints to what goes on inside her head.  
**2) **Cato showed a very obvious will for her companionship in the first chapter (feel free to reread it). He's pushed his feelings away as well, as a result of being initially rejected. He's keeping his mind off of Clove by giving all his attentions to Glimmer.  
**3) **Clove is not ready for romance! She's on a televised fight to the death, not Real Housewives. And she and Cato have a four year age difference. There may not even be any "real" romance until Glimmer dies, but there will definitely be some jealousy and conflict (over Cato) between those two girls.

**Sorry to disappoint you guys. I hope the lack of super-charged romance doesn't drive you all away. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. **

* * *

I slither onto the lake's shore and flop onto my back. I practically cough up a lung; it's like I actually swallowed a frog. But thank goodness, I didn't. Pulling off my soaking vest, I gasp, "Marvel, you will be the death of me."

I mean that jokingly. But the sad thing is, it might just turn out to be the truth.

No. I'm winning this Game if it kills me. Well, you know what I mean.

Marvel splashes out of the navy shallows. He makes a show of spritzing a handful of water at my face. "How else am I gonna win?"

For once, his humor doesn't draw out the laughs. His grin falters and he gloomily pulls me to my feet. Cato's signature scoff assaults my ears, and Peeta shuffles his feet, hands still tied up behind him. Inwardly rolling my eyes, I head for my backpack, which is, fortunately, dry. I swing a strap over my shoulder and say, "Let's go."

"Since when are you calling all the shots?"

I turn very slowly, wondering whether I'd heard Glimmer right. Cato has his arm around her, Andrea standing on his other side, and I can't help but think of that time he kissed me in front of a Capitol crowd. How despicable he must seem to them. Or maybe admirable. Players are exactly what make a game.

"Excuse me?" I ask sweetly, cocking my head slightly. My smile looks genuine, but my eyes convey my real irritation.

Glimmer prances forward. The sickeningly sweet scent of her perfume (we're in an arena, why does she need perfume?) threatens to suffocate me. She leans so far in, that our foreheads are almost touching. Her constant smirk is more of a grimace now. She's trying to look tough, but it's pointless. Glimmer's act is like a grass seedling pretending to be a cactus. It's pathetic and a lost cause.

While I'm choking on her cloying fragrance, she proclaims loudly, "Cato is the most powerful. _He_ should be leader. Not some wannabe like you."

Then, to me, Glimmer hisses through clenched teeth, "And no _wannabe_ is going to steal him from me."

Steal? Oh, no problem, Glimmer. He's all yours. I don't have time to worry about boyfriends considering I'm standing_ in the face of death_.

I'm about ready to say those exact words to her, but I don't. Primarily, because Cato chooses right then to pull me away from Glimmer. Not gruffly, but gentle. "Come on. Quit it," he says.

The other reason is that Cato won't be _anyone's_ when this is over. Cato will be dead. And as much as I hate that idea, it's true.

I suppose the best way to endure this _is_ to let Cato call all the shots.

* * *

By the time we are well into the woods, night has fallen. The forest appears to be more awake than during the day. We've let Peeta, also known as Lover Boy, lead us through the trees. He's still bound to Marvel by rope. Every once in a while, our Pack will pass by some low branches, that tug at Lover Boy's skin. By the time we stop to rest, his face is scored with wounds.

Infection will set in quickly. Being from 12, his immune system probably isn't the strongest. If we left him behind, he'd die of those scratch marks in little more than a week. Glimmer leans on a tree and whines, "I need to use the restroom."

"There is no restroom," Lover Boy tells her. He hasn't said a word in the last hour, despite Marvel's constant banter. "Find a tree."

Glimmer's pouty face contorts into one of disgust. Cato pulls her into the darkness, assuring her that "he wouldn't let anything touch her." Ugh. Seriously? Does she really need a bodyguard? Or, in this case, a potty-guard? Why did she even volunteer?

The moon creeps around the stars against a backdrop of inky blue. A cloud passes across the sky and I lose interest. I find myself the softest patch of dirt and curl into a ball.

* * *

I wake up before I even realize that I've fallen asleep. The sky is turning milky gray with predawn light. The others have been watching me, backpacks on and ready to go. Wordlessly, I stand and they start walking. I follow them, staring at the ground the whole time. Occasionally, Lover Boy will say something like, "Here's Katniss' footprint" or "There's one of her traps", but I won't be fully interested until I see that tribute with my own eyes.

And for a second, I think I do. But no, she would never light a fire. Fire? Fire! I search the faces of my comrades, but they seem preoccupied with an old snare. I hiss to them, "Hey!"

All five faces turn to me. I point in the direction of the red flickers. Andrea almost lets out a triumphant laugh, but I clamp my hand over her mouth, giving her a warning glare. The only thing separating us from our victim is a long trail of ivy. Poison ivy.

"Clove," Lover Boy whispers. "Give me one of your knives."

I'm tempted to say no, but what the heck? We're surrounded by poison ivy, ivy that is growing rapidly as if to encase us completely. Mutated, obviously. I hand him my worst knife. It's dull, clunky with a rugged edge. Lover Boy leans forward and carefully, without touching the ivy, saws clumps of the stuff out of our way. Within seconds, he's cleared a small path for us to walk through.

I snake on the path and am about a yard away from my victim when a hand stops me. Marvel's face is full of exasperation when he says, "It'd be wisest if you gave Glimmer a moment."

The others have caught up and we form a line, as if blocking our victim from the rest of the woods. She's a smallish girl, curly-haired, I'd say District 8 or some other poor district. It's only when Cato unsheathes his sword that the girl notices us. The girl's eyes reflect our faces; lethal, menacing. Perfect.

But when Glimmer takes hold of Cato's sword, she clams up. Her smirk has disappeared and a look of regret replaces it. She pushes it back at Cato, who shrugs and makes his way to the small girl, who must be around thirteen years old.

The girl begins to weep and cries, "No! Please! Please don't kill me!"

Cato creeps toward her, sword in hand. Something brushes against my arm and I turn to see Peeta, looking pointedly away from the pitiful thing. A single tear rolls down his dirty cheek. My attention is back on Cato and his victim. He hesitates for a second and I see hope flicker in her eyes. Then Cato raises the sword and plunges it into the girl's stomach. A single dying scream is all we hear of her.

Another player gone.

* * *

**AN: Terrible ending, I know, but I got really, _really _lazy. Sorry about that. Hope my first note cleared everything up (please don't hate me). R & R Please!**

**~~~Flare**


	13. Extinguishing The Spark

**AN: The direct quotes might not be totally accurate, since I've misplaced my copy of the Hunger Games. But I remember vaguely how some of these scenes go. I also skimmed "Mark Reads 'The Hunger Games'". It's funny; but not for the language-sticklers or feint of heart.**

* * *

"Twelve down, eleven to go!" shouts Cato triumphantly. Marvel and Andrea raise their spears and whoop, while Peeta looks at the ground. Glimmer drapes herself on Cato's arm and looks at him in a doughy-eyed, admiring way. "You did a great job," she murmurs to him. Like I don't already have enough to dry-heave about.

But I'm happy, the more tributes die, the better my chances of getting home. So I stick on a big grin and manage to congratulate Cato. He smiles back and gets a sort of gleam in his eye, which I dismiss as the firelight.

"Better move on before the body starts stinking!" I exclaim in a falsely cheerful voice. The others laugh and follow me as I trek through the ferns. I look up at a stirring figure in a tree and stiffen. I stare for a while as the others catch up. The figure remains still. Must be a dead branch, then.

"What are you, crazy?" Glimmer sneers, dangerously close to my face. "Nothing in that tree's gonna kill us or anything."

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Marvel asks.

Andrea ponders, "I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

I shake my head quizzically, wondering what Marvel must be getting at. Then I get it. "Unless she isn't dead."

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," Cato growls, stomping his foot childishly. His face is contorted into a scowl.

"Then where's the cannon?" I challenge, leaping to justify Marvel's assumption.

The bickering warps into a full-on squabble. Some blows are even landed on already-scarred faces when the fight is cut off.

"We're wasting time!" Peeta yells. It's the first time I hear him say much more than a mumble. "I'll go finish her off and let's move on!"

"Go on then, Lover Boy," Cato cuts the rope off Lover Boy's wrists and prods him, pushing him forward with the hilt of his sword. "See for yourself."

Lover Boy limps away, head down, one of Marvel's spears in his right hand.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Andrea inquires.

Marvel shrugs. "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

I think of the poison ivy Lover Boy had cut out of our path and impulsively lean forward to scratch my thigh.

"Besides," I agree, straightening myself. "He's our best chance of finding _her_."

Andrea opens her mouth again, possibly to ask who "_her_" is, but right then Lover Boy ungracefully crashes through the bushes.

"Was she dead?" prompts Cato.

"No," Lover Boy recalls. "But she is now." A cannon's fire punctuates his statement.

He shuffles down the hill. "Ready to move on."

Rancorously, I follow him down hill, the others following closely behind. As the milky gray sky turns to blue, I let my thoughts wander. What if Lover Boy didn't finish the girl to buy us time? What if it was a mercy kill? I scoff to myself. Of course it was. That sounds exactly like something Lover Boy would do.

Unless...

I slow down, riding farther on my train of thought than I had expected. What if Lover Boy is like us now? What if he kills us when we sleep?

* * *

The sun inches its way across the sky, not yet clearing the tips of the trees. The whole world is in slow motion- the sun creeps over the blue, the forest stretches on and on. My stomach starts to churn in time with my heartbeat. We haven't eaten since yesterday at noon.

"We need to eat," I say, stopping in my tracks. I drop to my knees and fish around in my backpack. I triumphantly pull out a package of dried beef and pop a piece into my mouth. Wordlessly, Marvel takes the bag and rewards himself with some of the jerky.

Glimmer snorts, jutting her hip out and fitting her hand on it like pieces of a puzzle. "We do _not_ need to eat. How are we going to maintain our beautiful figures if we eat fat?"

"Yeah, we can't eat," Andrea agrees. I snatch the beef from Marvel and stuff it into my backpack, tearing the zipper shut. The irritation boiling inside of me threatens to explode on both of them. But I take a few deep breaths, slip out a knife and casually stroke the spine.

"What we _do_ need to maintain is energy," I tell them, my finger trailing onto the knife's tip now. "How sad would it be if one of you won and POOF-" I make a small cut into my fingertip and lift it proudly- "you pass out from fear and exhaustion?"

Glimmer wrinkles her nose at the sight of the blood and Andrea wavers a little on the spot. A sudden weight pounds into my shoulder and Cato's voice commands, "Why are we wasting time? We have to go."

I whirl around and glower at him. "I have searched every path in the two-mile radius," I snap, "While you have been stomping around with Glimmer and doing who-knows-what when I'm not looking."

Cato stares down on me, jaw set, but I can see in his eyes that I've startled him. To my surprise, he bursts out laughing.

"Ha! Wow, Clove!" he guffaws, tussling my hair. "Nice one!"

Fury courses through me as I straighten my now-contaminated hair. As he saunters away, still cackling, the others follow him, most of them tittering as well. I glare at them, refusing to follow, until I feel a hand encasing my arm. I yank away and find myself face to face with Lover Boy.

He looks me in the eyes with his questioning, blue ones and I feel some sort of tension building, like a lit fuse.

The imaginary flames crackle close to the imaginary dynamite until-WHOOSH! I extinguish the spark. I pull my gaze away from his and start after the others.

As I walk, I run through those moments in my head. Peeta catches up to us, but lags behind me.

Extinguish the spark. That's exactly what I have to do. Lover Boy still loves Katniss, I can see that much. His allegiance is still to her. I have to extinguish the spark. Katniss is the spark.

And I have to extinguish her.

* * *

**AN: Not much to say; R&R please!**

**~~~Flare**


	14. Smoke, Ashes, Burning

Before I realize what's happened, night has fallen again.

"Did anyone bring any tents?" I ask, remembering that the Cornucopia stocked some.

Glimmer flips her luscious, blonde locks over her shoulder. "No, I left them in the clearing. They were too heavy."

"You WHAT?!" Marvel shouts. He's never raised his voice in front of me before. Guess the arena changes people.

"I could have carried them!" I scream, completely ignorant to the fact that any threat could jump out and kill us. But come to think of it, the only real threats are my allies. Goody.

"Or ME!" Marvel points out.

Glimmer fakes a pout and buries her face in Cato's firm shoulder. Weakness has never been the key to winning the Games and neither has being a whiny brat. Both of which Glimmer should learn to understand. But the chances of Glimmer learning are about as high as Lover Boy winning.

I swear I almost vomit then and there when Cato brushes her golden hair aside and tells her that, "It's okay."

I stomp over to Andrea and rummage through my pack. Forcing three rolled up tarps I'd picked up into her hands, I say, "Make some shelter out of these."

There's a sharp intake of breath from everyone when something thuds on the ground. But it turns out it's Lover Boy, slumped onto the bracken and passed out from exertion. I don't blame him. I wish my situation were as simple as his.

Andrea raises a long branch over Lover Boy and I'm about to grab her by the elbow when she spears it into the soft ground next to him. She plunges the second one opposite the first. Then she lays the tarp over the two sticks so it makes a tent. A basic tent, but relatively functional. I lift the tarp slightly to look into the pitch-dark shelter. There's just enough room for a second person to rest there. I turn to Andrea. I order, "You guard him for the night."

She slowly slides into the tent and and scoops out a little dirt seat for herself, before squatting next to the prisoner. I turn and sigh, just realizing that I'll have to make the other tents myself. The final products consist of several branches. Two parallel stakes with one laid on top. The top stick is lined with several twigs bent at a forty-five degree angle, making a sort of triangular rib cage.

Marvel helps me build the second one, while Glimmer and Cato slip into the first. Cato smoothly scoops Glimmer into his arms, like she's one of those old heiresses. What were they called? Princesses? Yeah, princesses. I remember it from a small unit on monarchy in my sixth year of school.

She throws her head back in an exaggerated giggle and allows herself to be carried. Marvel fans out the tarp so it drapes nicely onto the tent frame. He lifts an opening. He looks at me. I look right back. I cock my head like a dog, not quite sure what to do.

"Well, are you going in or not?" he exclaims.

"Oh!" I say, eyes widening. "Um, yes." Frustration overwhelms my confusion. I hate myself for looking clueless.

"I suppose you're taking first watch?" I inquire, rummaging for the softest patch of earth possible. When I find it I lie down, but angle my head upwards to see Marvel.

"No," He scoffs. "I was going to make _Cato_ do it."

I actually sit upwards, puzzled, before Marvel finishes, "Of course I'm taking first watch. We can switch shifts around midnight."

"Yeah, Cato and Glimmer seem a little too caught up in each other, and not to mention _themselves_, to do anything properly," I agree.

Marvel shrugs his broad shoulders. Then he stands and walks away, leaving me only the back of his boots to stare at. I lay on my back and think for a while.

* * *

The while doesn't last long, because in what feels like seconds, Marvel has woken me again.

"Your turn," he mumbles, almost incoherently, before yawning and ducking into the tent.

The moon is high and bright above me. Some owl hoots in a tall tree and I can just see it, silhouetted against the stars. The stars. There are so many tonight. More than in the Capitol, for sure. I remember the nights I would spend away from my grandmother. The clear nights, with countless stars.

_I was around twelve and in my seventh year of school. The stars looked almost like birthday candles. At least, the birthday candles on the cake of a trillion-year-old man. The first nights, I was worried. That my grandmother would find me. That a cougar would find me. Or a wolf._

_But I was safe. On the rainy nights, I'd find a cave. The rain would drum on the rocks above and for once, I'd be at peace. My best mornings were the ones when I woke up to smell mountain air and not iron, smoke, or ashes. Smoke. Ashes._

* * *

Smoke. I can almost smell it now. I can almost feel the fiery ashes. I squint my eyes, which burn upon being opened. The smoke thickens around me. The ashes grow more tangible. The burning worsens. And I know it's not a mirage.

Smoke.

Ashes.

Burning.

It is not a dream, or a mirage, or even an idea.

The fire is most definitely real. And it's closing in on me.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for the short-ish chapter, but I needed a decent cliff-hanger. Although I know I'll never live up to her, I decided to pull a Suzanne Collins and leave you in suspense. Dun-dun-DU-DAH! Okay, maybe not. **

**Thanks for reading! Please R&R!  
**

**~~~Flare**


	15. The Painful Irony

**AN: I was going through the reviews for the story the other day, and I was basically bawling my eyes out. So many of these comments are so sweet and I am so fortunate to have people like you all to support my work. Thank you for being you :)**

* * *

The flames engulf me and I scream. Loudly.

"Wake up! Get up! Come on!" I screech at my allies. Somehow, even with Lover Boy weighing her down, Andrea is the first one to run away. They disappear behind the wall of fire and I'm certain this will be the last time I see them.

Marvel dashes out of the tent over the sound of screaming. He grabs at my arm and tries to pull me from the inferno. "Clove, we gotta go!"

I struggle in his grip, my body heat rising rapidly. "No!" I cough. "What about Cato and Glimmer?!"

The smoke reaches into my throat and clogs it. The fire isn't getting any smaller and I know that I have to run, but I can't leave Cato or Glimmer, no matter how annoying she is. As I think this, Cato rushes into view and out of it again, vaporizing into the flame. Glimmer screams from inside the tent and she bursts out after him.

Marvel runs after both of them, watching as the flames creep up the trees. "They're out! Come on!"

He quickly passes Glimmer, who tears at his jacket, begging him to help her. He shakes his head and keeps on running. I'm about to make it past her when she shoves me into the ground; she's surprisingly strong for a girl who never trained. She kicks ashes into my face before turning tail and running after my allies.

Every time I try to breath, my mouth and nose fill with soot. Soon, the sky is a violent mix of orange and gray. I turn on my stomach and crawl, willing someone to come and help me. No one does. I try to stand and run, but my knees buckle and all the orange turns black.

* * *

My eyes strain to focus in the direct light of noon. _Am I dead?_ I wonder. The light distorts and a wall of water hits me full in the face. I gasp, my throat closed up with water.

"What the HELL?!" I shout, bolting upright. I collapse right back into a heap on the ground. Water and bile pours out of my mouth and I spit on the ground until the taste of ashes and vomit is gone. My voice follows the ashes and dies out as well. I can't speak in more than a whisper.

Glimmer swoops down beside me, throwing the water bottle into the lake. The lake. How did we get here so quickly? How did _I_ even get here?

"Clove, are you okay?" Marvel asks while Glimmer pushes my hair off my clammy forehead. I'm about to say something, but I just nod. There's no reason to stress my voice.

"Oh, Clove," Glimmer coos, shoving more hair and soot out of my face. "Poor Clove. I'm sorry they left you behind. I tried to save you, you know."

"NO, YOU DIDN'T!", I try to scream. "YOU SHOVED ME INTO THE DIRT AND LEFT ME TO DIE!"

But it just comes out as a low moan. I exchange a disbelieving glance with Marvel and even Lover Boy looks like he doesn't buy it. Cato and Andrea, on the other hand, seem to trust Glimmer wholeheartedly. I wish I'd just kept my mouth shut when I saw the fire and kept running.

"Someone needs to put her in the lake," Glimmer says, looking around with mock sympathy. "To heal her burns."

Burns? I struggle to look at my hands and feet. They look alright. It seems like this fire was meant for someone else, and we just got unlucky.

But if I want anyone to put me in the lake, I want it to be Marvel. He's the only one I trust here. I shoot him a hopeful glance, but he lifts a pair of heavily burn hands and mouths, "Sorry."

"I'll do it," Cato volunteers. I writhe a bit as he stoops down beside me. He's gentle, though, and as he lifts me up, I let out a sigh. My eyelids droop closed, despite my rule to stay on guard. It would be hard for anyone to stay on guard in my state.

I almost feel peaceful. Then Cato drops me in the lake. I only end up in the shallows, but it's such a shock to my system that I almost throw up again. I moan loudly enough for the others to hear me before shutting up. How am I going to get sponsors now?

Lover Boy inspects me from the shore, before saying, "I'm not sure she's prepared to go anywhere."

I want to kill him. Whip out a knife and send it flying into his skull. Partially because he's exposing my weakness even more and partially because he's right. I'd be insane to try to go anywhere in my condition.

We're close enough to the Cornucopia for Andrea to fetch a fleece and hand it to Cato. He lifts me out of the water and cocoons me in the blanket. I sigh again and let the soft warmth envelop me. Man, I've got to stop sighing.

* * *

Cato carries me through the forest most of the way. I feel safe in his arms, but I know I should start walking by myself soon. Eventually, around dusk, Marvel hands me a long branch, which I use as a walking stick. Glimmer turns around and reclaims Cato, fastening herself to his arm and resting her head on his shoulder. At one point, she sticks out her elegant leg and knocks my walking stick to the ground. I topple over, but manage to get hold of her ankle in the process.

Glimmer lurches into the dirt. Then she grabs my throat and twists about, rolling on the ground the same way we did after the interviews. But this time, instead of my fist making contact with her cheek, my knife does. The gash on her pretty face pulses and spouts blood. It dribbles onto my jacket and Glimmer straightens up, gripping Cato's shoulder for balance.

But he doesn't stop to comfort her, like he usually would. Instead, he laughs. Hard. And the rest of us begin to laugh, too. All but Glimmer and Lover Boy, who never really thinks about anything but Katniss, anyway.

Lover Boy's thoughts are elsewhere and he sees me watching him, he looks another way. But I can see what he was staring at.

A single figure wading in a pond. Katniss. I see her leg is red and looks decomposed. The girl on fire got burned. Oh, the painful irony.

* * *

**AN: Since the Tracker Jacker scene is near, the Clato fluff is allowed to begin. I mean, a few chapters ago, Clove wouldn't allow Cato to touch her, much less carry her. I hope you guys are pleased with this chapter, because once Glimmer is dead, the romance can be kicked into high gear!**

**~~~Flare**


End file.
